Forbidden
by 4ever Optimistic
Summary: A new serial killer has appeared on the streets of London, terrorizing it's people. Will Cain be able to catch the killer in time or will he lose the one closest to him? RiffCain
1. Chapter 1

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

Crimson red liquid flowing down milky white skin; blood.

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

She stood, the hood of her cloak hiding her features. Her pale hand glistened with blood in the slowly receding light. On her lips, a small smiled played, soft, gentle, evil.

At her feet, a body laid, its chest moving up and down, it's rapid breathing the only sign of life. A pool of blood gathered beneath him like melted rubies. It was a man.

He raised a hand, his eyes wide, clinging to the last bit of life left.

"Please…"he managed to croak out.

Her eyes lit up, though the color was still hidden. She giggled, a childish sound so innocent, so pure it almost hurt, hearing it come from her lips. She lifted her hand and pulled back her hood, yet darkness had started to set in, hiding her features still. Her eyes twinkled, amused, as her lips parted.

_All around the cobbler's bench,_

_The monkey chased the weasel,_

_The monkey thought it was all the fun,_

_Pop! Goes the weasel._

"Too bad the weasel didn't feel like playing."

* * *

Cain leaned back in his armchair, studying his valet as he tied the count's shoes. It was interesting really. His movements were simple, quick, and precise, yet his touch was always gentle. Of course, Cain would know. It _was_ Riff who helped him bathe every night. 

"How long do you think you'll be out, milord?" Riff looked up to meet the earl's golden green eyes as he asked. Cain shrugged as Riff stood up to fetch his black frock.

The count stood up and stretched, running his hand through his dark locks. Did it really matter?

"You're great aunt is coming tomorrow, sir," Riff reminded gently, as he held up the frock so Cain could slip his arms into the sleeves. "It would be best if you didn't stay out too late."

With a slight roll of the eyes, he waved his hand, dismissing the reminder. "I'll try not to," he answered hastily, seeing Riff's displeased expression. He hated it when his valet frowned.

"Very good, sir," he said mildly as he finished buttoning up the coat. He handed the count his top hat and cane which had been hanging on the rack next to the door, their hands brushing lightly as Cain reached out to accept the items. He jammed the hat on top of his dark hair and tapped the floor once with his cane. "Your gloves, sir." Cain took them and slid them on, already walking to the door.

Turning the golden doorknob, he pulled the door opened, allowing a waft of wind to enter and ruffle though his hair, blowing strands into his eyes.

"Oh, and Milord-," the door slammed shut on Riff's words.

The air was clear and crisp as Cain walked down the cobblestone streets of London. The sun was setting, casting a blood red hue into the sky that melted into a darker violet. What was it they say? _Red skies at night to a sailor's delight, red skies at dawn, sailors be warned. _Or something like that. The moon hung low in the sky, shining palely in the receding light. It was a full moon.

Not many were roaming the streets as Cain continued his way. Many were either in their own homes, dining with their families or in the taverns, buying rounds of drinks for their friends. The streets were almost eerily quiet save the steady clicking of the count's shoes against stone. He rounded the corner, unusually tense. It was too quiet like the oppressing silence before a thunderstorm. It was a warning.

His steps quickened, covering ground with fluid strides. His grip on his cane tightened. Cain didn't actually know where he was going. There had not actually been a destination in mind when he decided to go out. He had just been feeling antsy, unable to sit still at all so he had decided fresh air would've done him some good. Then, Riff had to bring up the great aunt. It wasn't that Cain hated his relatives, not all of them anyway. He was just wary of them. Greed was an evil thing that often led to evil deeds and he was not going to let another family member get the chance to wrong him.

He probably shouldn't have taken out his annoyance in Riff though. He hadn't meant to act so cold toward his valet. He just hated meeting with his family. They always pretended to show concern about his wellbeing, but come on, if they actually did, they would've protected him from his father, or at least done something, even if it was just acknowledging how evil Alexis really was. But no. They just pretended everything was perfectly fine. Just peachy keen.

With a frustrated sigh, Cain loosened his grip on his walking stick. No matter how much he didn't wanted to believe it, the truth was that he was getting no closer to figuring out his father's plans. There are no such things as coincidences, yet everything Alexis did was so scattered that Cain had a hard time believing the random acts had a purpose at all.

"Hhhh. . .hhhelllp." Cain stopped. "Hhhheelllp." The low moan was coming from a dark alley. The count peered into the darkness, raising his cane to his chest. He took a step in, his golden eyes glowing like a cat's in the darkness. That fact didn't actually help him see any better though. He continued walking in, carefully studying the shadows. It probably wasn't the smartest thing for him to do, going into a dark alley alone, but Cain was never one to think about consequences. Nope, he'd just think about them when he was being brutally beaten or threatened with death. Still, he proceeded further in, the sky darkening with each step. Dusk had fully set in and the stars were beginning to reveal themselves with small playful twinkles. Cain could hear the labored breathing of a man, the sound growing louder and louder with each step.

Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing Cain's ankle in a vise like grip. The count inhaled sharply, suppressing a surprise gap.

"What the-" he took a step back and raised his cane, ready to strike when another hand came out of the shadow. It was covered in blood.

"Help…please…" Eyes wide, Cain lowered his hand. Light from a gaslight that stood next to the alley managed to light part of the alleyway. Half hidden in the shadows, Cain could see, was an injured man, lying in a pool of blood. It didn't look to good. On the ground, more than a few pints of crimson red liquid glistened.

It was hard to tell where the blood was originating from. Blood was slowly dripping down the man's face, mixing with his blond hair. His clothing was completely soaked in such a way that black could no longer be told from red. And still, the pool of blood seemed to be growing. Cain quickly knelt down, his body moving instinctively.

"Sir, can you tell me what happened?" he asked, pulling the man's tie loose. The most important thing was to stop the bleeding. Where was Riff when he was needed?

The man looked up at Cain, his eyes glazed. He was at death's doorstep, not yet ready to go in, but one foot already across the threshold. He was going to die no matter what Cain did.

"Her…her…," The man reached up to grab the collar of the count's frock.

"Who?" Cain asked, adrenaline rushing through him. Could this man have something to do with his father?

"Silver. . .," The man took in a desperate breath. "…we- weasel."

Cain looked down at him confused. "What do you mean?" he asked, obviously distressed. "Silver weasel? Sir? Sir?!" The grip on his frock loosened as the bloody hand slowly fell, leaving a trail of blood on Cain's coat. The eyes blinked once before they became blank, looking up into the night sky, but not seeing. His chest heaved up once more, his last breathe, then became still. Death had claimed his prize.

Cain sat on the cold stone pathway, clutching the dead body and looking blankly down at it. Without knowing why, he started to cry, crystal clear tears falling onto the dead man's face, washing away crimson blood. Another one dead.

* * *

Riff stood, staring at the door, the slam echoing in his ears. It would seem that his master was in a bad mood. Torn between following his master or remaining in the mansion, Riff continued to stare at the door. It was never truly wise to leave Master Cain alone when he was in a bad mood. Experience had taught him that. More times than not, _something_ would happen, and it probably wouldn't be a good _something_ either. Still, Riff had more than enough things he had to do, even without keeping tabs on his master, so when the maid came to ask for assistance, his mind was made. 

For the next hour or so, Riff scurried around the mansion, doing what he did best; managing the household. Mary Weather who had been studying quietly in her room suddenly demanded for tea and specially made scones. One of the maids had just fainted after finding a spider hiding in the curtains and there was a massive spill in the kitchen. Not to mention, Riff hadn't even touched the count's poison collection which needed to be resorted. On top of all of that, Riff couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

"Riiifffff!!!! Where's my tea?" An insistent voice carried through the halls.

"Coming Miss Mary Weather," Riff called back. He picked up his silver tea tray, grabbing the plate of freshly baked scones on his out. "Oh and Farrell," he said to the cook as he stepped through the doorway, "Bring some smelling salts up to the maids' quarters. Halina seems to have fainted. . .again."

"Of course, sir," the cook called to his retreating back.

Riff knocked lightly on Mary Weather's door, waiting only a few seconds before she told him to come in. Balancing the tray skillfully with one hand, he opened the door and stepped in. He placed the tray on an empty table and busied himself, pouring out the tea. Mary Weather flounced over to where he stood, and picked up one of the scones. She took a delicate bite and studied the valet silently. Riff knew the question to come.

"Where's my brother?" she asked, blue eyes unblinking as they bored into the butler.

"Out it would seem," he answered, unfazed by the slight glare Mary Weather was giving him.

"Out doing what?" she persisted, taking another bit of her scone.

Riff set down the tea pot and straightened up. "Only the count knows himself, milady," he answered. She frowned, not the least bit satisfied with the answer. Her brother was going to get a scolding when he got home.

"If that's all, milady."

She turned her attention back to Riff. "Yes, I-," The doorbell rung, interrupting her sentence.

"Please excuse me." He dipped into a low bow and exited the room, heading toward the main doors. Again, the doorbell rung. "I'm coming," Riff muttered under his breath, reaching the door. With a swift pull, he turned the knob and opened the door.

A woman stood at the door way. She was wearing a wine red cloak to ward off the nighttime chill. It was the new governess.

"Come in," Riff said, stepping back. "We've been expecting you." The woman gave a small smile and stepped in. Her black hair was pulled back away from her face, accenting her features. Her gray eyes were flecked with a whitish color causing the two to meld into a silvery sheen that seemed to always be twinkling. "You are Miss Charnette Laurent, am I correct?"

She nodded. "And may I inquire as to who you are?" she asked. She had a quiet voice.

"I am the head butler, Riffael Raffit. If you have any questions while you are in this household, direct them to me."

"Yes, sir," she said meekly. It would seem that she was a shy girl. Riff almost pitied her. She was going to have to go up against Mary Weather.

"Let me show you your quarters, then I'll introduce you to Mary Weather," he said, his demeanor softening a bit. He wondered how long this one would last. "Lord Cain is out at the current moment," he continued, "so you won't be able to meet the master yet." She nodded again and Riff led her through the halls toward the servant quarters. She followed quietly behind, her footsteps not making a sound.

"Rrriiiifffff!!!!!" Mary Weather bounced out, a curious expression on her features. Then seeing the woman, she stopped abruptly, her lips tugging down in a small frown. "Who is she?" the petite blonde demanded. "She better not pregnant with Cain's child."

Charnette blinked, her eyes widening in surprise as a slightly mortified look crossed Riff's usually stoic features. "Milady!" he scolded, shocked at what had just been said. "That's awfully rude!" Mary Weather shrugged.

"What am I suppose to say, Riff?" she asked, her blue eyes looking up at him with such pure innocence that it could only be fake. "I guarantee you that one day it's going to happen seeing as to how much my dear brother loves to go out. Only the lord knows what he's actually doing when you're not watching him."

To this, Riff knew no answer. He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but it refused to come out. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his mind explored the different possibilities. His heart gave a painful squeeze as he realized that everything Mary had just said was true. Even he couldn't keep tabs on the earl at all times. Not to mention, Cain was a bit of a womanizer at times…maybe more than a bit. Would it really be surprising if someone ended pregnant?

"Um…sir?" Charnette looked at him nervously, shaking Riff out of his shock.

"Ah, yes." He turned to Mary Weather, pointedly avoiding her eyes. "This is your new governess, milady, _not_ your brother's mistress."

"Hello!" the small girl said cheerfully. She either did not see Riff's reaction or was purposely ignoring it as she struck up a conversation with her governess. It was probably the latter.

"My name is Mary Weather. What's yours?"

Charnette dipped into a small curtsy. "Charnette Laurent, milady."

The blonde nodded. "You're French aren't you?" she asked bluntly.

"My father was," the governess answered.

Mary smiled before turning back to the head butler. "Riff! Lead her to her quarters," she commanded before flouncing back into her room. Riff hastened to the task with a small beckon. Anything to stop him from worrying about stupid things Cain was doing.

Promptly, the phone rang.

* * *

Thank you for reading!! I love Godchild/Count Cain and I love Riff/Cain. Review and tell me how I did. I didn't actually plan the story to be a Godchild fanfic, but when I thought up of the murder, it just popped into my mind and clicked. This is my first Cain fic, so thank you again for reading and remember to review!! Oh! And Happy Chinese New Year!!

P.S. There is a reason as to why I used "Pop Goes The Weasel."


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, sorry for the long delay. Writer's block is quite annoying and writing this chapter was like banging my head against a concrete wall. I suck at writing slow things and this is just a sucky, fluffy chapter I used as a transition. I promise the next chapter will be much better and hopefully updated faster too. Remember to review!!

* * *

"Sir…Sir!!"

Cain strode into his mansion, the door slamming close behind him. He shrugged off his cloak and allowed it fall to the floor, knowing Riff would be behind him, picking it up. He looked down at his hands. The black leather gloves he had been wearing were stained a deep crimson from the blood. Ruined. Hastily, he tore them off and threw then onto the foyer table. The blood stains. He needed to wash them off.

"Riff, I'm taking a bath. I'll draw it myself. Just bring me some tea." Without waiting for an answer, the earl quickened his steps, making his way through the halls of his mansion. He reached the bathroom and quickly opened the door, stepping in before gently pushing it shut. Leaning against the wooden structure, he stood for a few seconds before his legs gave out, causing him to slide onto the cold marble floor. Exhaling loudly, he ran his fingers through his dark locks. After staring absentmindedly at the white tiled walls for a few minutes, he stood up and ambled over to the bathtub. Entwining his elegant fingers around the silver taps, he gave it a slight twist, the thundering sound of running water hitting ceramic white surface filling the room. His fingers lingered on the taps, slowly dragging along the smooth surface before Cain withdrew his hand. The silver gleamed, a distorted reflection of golden green eyes and chocolate brown locks meeting the count's own cat like orbs. He drew in a shaky breath and let it out, tearing his eyes away from his own intense gaze.

Death. That was all life meant wasn't it? Death and pain. Cain's fingers were moving on their own now as his tie unwound it self from his neck. He dipped a hand into the water, absently deeming the temperature ready. With another quick twist, he shut of the taps. Silence once again filled the air.

What was love, really? An innocent crush? Or a deadly obsession, maybe. Was there really a difference? All it did was make it harder to let go to death. Was it really worth it?

The count's fingers returned to their task of undressing him. He started unbuttoning his vest, the moisture that still clung to his hand wetting the front of the clothing. As soon as it was unbuttoned, he shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor in a crumple of silky fabric. Then he raised his hands to his throat and started with the first button.

Death was the only true thing Cain knew. Though seventeen, his life had been plagued by the reaper since his earliest years. Everyone, every_thing_ he had ever love always disappeared. Some falling into the skeletal hands of death and others becoming worse that the reaper, tempting him to also fall into the grips of death. Yet he was cursed. Death wasn't and would never be a true option for him. He was destined to live in pain, in fear, watching the ones around him fall like dominos, until he was the last one standing in a sea of corpses.

The white dress shirt, stained crimson with blood, slid off the count's shoulder and joined the discarded vest. His skin was no darker than the garment he had been wearing. Soon, dark slacks also found its way to the floor, joining the already discarded clothing. Any remaining undergarments were also stripped off until the count was as bare as the day he was born. Gingerly, he stepped into the filled tub, emerging one foot in the lukewarm, then the other, using the edge of the porcelain tub for support. He sat down, letting the water envelop in a warm embrace and closed his eyes. The water was up to his chin as he slid lower.

Cain wondered what would happen if he just drowned himself. He wasn't planning on trying of course, not at all. As damned as his life was, letting go of life was harder than it seemed. No. It was just simple morbid curiosity. Would Mary Weather miss him? He would hope so. Or maybe not. She was always complaining about how protective he was, wasn't she? No. Cain was pretty sure she would miss him.

What about Riff? Would he miss his master? Cain thought so. He was willing to go to hell with his master, wasn't he? If that wasn't devotion at its highest, then what was? So there wouldn't be much missing then, since they were going to be damned together. It was kinda nice in a horrible morbid way; the idea of dying with someone. Usually, people died alone. Cain was lucky . . . in a sense.

With a small sigh, the dark haired count straightened up, causing the water to ripple around him. Reaching to the side, he grabbed the bar of soap that sat docile in its tray. For a few moments, he stared at the object, studying the off white pigment, before submerging it into the water. Immediately, the pale surface became slick and soapy, almost slipping from the count's equally pale hand. He started washing himself, covering himself with trails of gentle suds as he dragged it along his skin.

Any thought at all flew out the window as he immersed himself in ridding himself of any trace of blood. Only the sound of water falling against water filled his ears, lulling him into a state of pure calm. Bathing was relaxing. There was no point of arguing that.

After Cain was sure that he was absolutely clean, he stepped out, grabbing the awaiting towel that was slung over the silver handles, nailed to the wall. He dried himself off completely, then, grabbing his robe, slid it over his shoulder, letting the soft material envelop him. Running his hand through his dark locks, he headed toward the door that would lead to his private drawing room. In it sat a round table with two chairs by a window. A small piano was hidden in the corner. It was a relatively peaceful room. The walls were a calming off white with golden embellishment, twisting up the walls. The floor was a soothing carpet that matched the walls in color.

The count stood by the doorway for a few moments, his eyes scanning the room. Then he walked over to the window, grabbing the brass handles. With a small push, he opened it letting in the moonlight. It was clear night, the stars shone brightly against the night sky. The moon was hanging low and not a cloud disturbed the sight. The window opened up to the garden in the back of the Hargreaves' mansion. Delicate plants cast shadows over the darken sidewalk that twisted around the corner and into more of the garden.

A slight wind blew into the room, whispering as it passed the metal frame and tangling through the earl's dark lock, causing it to twist and dance in the air. Cain closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the cool breeze to wash over him. It was almost perfectly silent outside. The only sounds were the light fluttering of a stray bird's wings batting against the leaves. How very peaceful. Too bad it never lasts.

He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder, his golden green eyes thoughtful as he looked at the piano. It had been a while since he played and the lone instrument in the corner was just begging to be touched. Besides, it was a beautiful night to play if one forgot about the earlier death. So he walked over to the piano, taking a seat on the wooden piano bench. He gently lifted off the cover, revealing ivory and ebony keys that gleamed in the light. There was no dust due to the maids. He paused a moment, his hands above the key but then smiled softly and pressed down.

* * *

The haunting melody echoed through the halls of the mansion making everyone that heard it stop. This included Riff. Paused outside of the drawing room, he held a tray in his left hand, his right hand resting lightly on the bronze handle. He let the music wash over him for a moment before silently opening the door and slipping inside, making less noise than the quietest mouse.

The window was opened, blowing a cool breeze in, causing the white curtains to float n the air. Cain sat on the piano bench, his back toward the window dressed in nothing more than a bathrobe. His hair ruffled in the breeze as his elegant fingers danced over the piano keys, gently caressing each before moving on. The valet placed his tray down and began preparing the tea, careful not to make a sound.

The notes weaved their way through the air in a sad resonating sound. Yet there was an expression of peaceful consent of Cain's features, a small smile playing on his full lips, his eyes closed as he merged himself into the music.

"Hello, Riff." He tilted his head slightly, eyes still closed, fingers still dancing. The valet looked up for a moment before returning his attention to the tea. Of course Cain would know he had entered. "Hhmmm." The last note was played in a soft lingering sound and Riff straightened up.

"Milord," he answered politely once Cain looked at him from over his shoulder. His golden eyes were inquisitive as they looked at him, his lips parting in and alluring expression of curiosity. "His name is Geoffrey Leonard," Riff said, replying to the count's unasked question.

"Leonard…"Cain repeated thoughtfully, rising from the piano bench. "I can't say I know him."

That's because he wasn't from England," the valet replied. "He lives in Italy, Prague to be exact. He was here on a business venture."

Cain nodded as he walked to the table and picked up the cup of tea. His pale slender fingers wrapped around the heated china, warming his fingers. "Have you found any of his enemies? He must have some, businessman and all." He seated himself in the comfy armchair and leaned back, glancing up at Riff.

"Nothing yet, sir."

The count nodded again, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip. The scalding liquid slid quickly down his throat, burning his esophagus as it went down. He glanced up at the valet as he replaced the cup on the saucer. "I see," he said softly. Then he turned, looking out the window. Though he had not asked Riff to do anything except bring him tea, the valet had understood right away Cain's needs.

"As for the silver weasel he had spoken of, nothing had been found yet," Riff continued. Ah yes. The last words the man had said. Cain had been puzzling over that phrase for a while now. No matter how he put it, it refused to make sense. Of course, the man could have literally been referring to a weasel composed entirely of silver, but somehow that seemed unlikely. What would an expensive figurine have to do with his death? No it was more likely a reference that had to do with the murderer. Perhaps whoever it was had an emblem of a weasel and perhaps it was silver. The other scenario would be that Mr. Leonard was bashed by a silver figurine and due to the fact that no marks were found other than a rather deep knife wound, that also seemed highly unlikely.

"Did he have any family?"

Riff was silent for a moment as he consulted his memory. "Not that I know of, sir," he replied. The count hummed to indicate he was listening. Though he was still looking out the window, his eyes were far away, showing how deeply he was buried in his thoughts. His slender fingers played around the rim of his teacup, tracing circular patterns along the delicate ceramic.

"Riff…," Cain suddenly looked up at his valet, "what would you do if I died?"

"I would follow you to the depths of hell," he answered calmly like he was asked that question on a daily basis. A strange expression crossed the count's graceful features.

"You always say that, but where would that leave Merry Weather?"

"She is a strong girl, Master Cain," the valet said gently, "with a good head on her shoulders. She will know what to do, though it would break her heart if you died. As for me, I am nothing more than a simple servant in the household. My death will be meaningless to her." Cain remained silent, contemplating what was just said. Then, he shook his head, lightly dipping his finger into the tea. It broke the surface, forming a series of small ripples.

"Hell is a long way down, Riff," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else as he pulling the appendage back out. He quickly placed it in his mouth, sucking the droplets of tea off his finger before they fell onto the polished table. Then, he shook his head again. "Never I mind, Riff," he said brightly, standing up. "Help me get dressed. We still have a bit to do before the night is over."

Whatever it was that needed to be done, Riff didn't know, but obliged the order quickly as he pulled out a few pieces of clothing and started to dress the count. The valet knew better than to question Cain. More times than not, his answers would be slightly worrying.

Finally, about fifteen minutes later, he finished twisting the tie and pulled the knot snugly against his masters pale neck when a thought came to him.

"Ah, sir, it would seem that our new governess-"

"What new governess?" he asked, already out the door. "What happen to the old one?"

"Um, milord, remember that incident a few weeks ago . . .?" Riff quickly followed his master down the hall.

"Which one?" That was a good question upon its own. There were always incidents which made differentiating them a pain.

"Well, Mary was quite unhappy with the governess and she deemed it necessary to-" Once again, he was cut off, but this time, instead of it being Cain, a scream resonated through the halls, high pitched and shrill with fear. "It's coming from the kitchen, sir." Cain was already running, sprinting toward the sound. Already, the mansion was starting to buzz. Maids who had already retired were starting to spill from their rooms, curious yet apprehensive about the scream.

Reaching the kitchen, a few of the workers had already converged. Cain pushed past them and peered into the room, feeling more than seeing Riff behind him.

"Riff," he said quietly, eyes never leaving the scene, "make sure Mary Weather doesn't come in here and call the police will you're at it."

"Yes, sir." Riff headed off to do what he was told.

Feeling his valet leave, Cain took a step forward to better survey the area. Lying on the usually spotless white tiles of the kitchen floor was one of his maids, still in uniform. Her glazed brown eyes stared at the ceiling, wide with fear and her mouth was agape, twisted into a look of horror. Blood stained her clothing, from the white apron to the black dress underneath and onto the tiles. Lips tinted blue spilled the crimson liquid across her cheeks, mixing with her brown hair. In her hand, a cleaver was gripped tightly. It looked like she was trying to defend herself. Her neck had been sliced open, spraying blood over the counters of the kitchen. It was going to be a few hours to clean the room.

Moving closer to the body, Cain got another surprise. Hidden behind one of the tables was another woman, also lying on the floor. The slight movement of her chest as she breathed indicated she was still alive. By the looks of it, she had entered the kitchen through the other doorway, stumbled upon the body, and fainted. There was a chance that she was the one that screamed, too. Unfortunately, Cain didn't recognize the woman.

"That's the new governess, sir," one of the maids at the other entrance said, seeing his puzzled expression. "She arrived while you were out."

"I see," he muttered. Then he turned to one of the butlers that were standing by the doorway. "Could you carry her to her room?" he asked, gesturing to the unconscious girl. The man nodded his understanding and proceeded to scoop the woman up and carry her out of the kitchen. There was no need for her to be lying on the floor when the police arrived. They could always ask her questions when she fully recovered. Cain himself had some questions, too.


End file.
